Exposed
by WinTTY
Summary: As time moves on, Max doesn't - but she tries, she really does. Thankfully Chloe is there and Chloe listens. Part IV of the Choice series.


Sometimes Max stares at thing too much and her head - and mind - spiral.

Like today, for example.

She's staring down at the ocean, the calm, somehow soothing waves that batter up against the pier, again and again and again. Beside her she can hear Chloe talking, but it's all muffled - she's not focusing on her, not now.

She's focusing on the waves, on how… tranquil they are. The water is… almost clean, but not quite. For some reason, Max can see a reddish, burgundy tint to it - exactly where she's staring. It's nothing to be alarmed about, probably just… some trash.

But she stares and stares and… she pushes herself forward, right over the guard rail.

All the sounds are… gone. It's all muffled.

Max is falling and falling, then she's sinking - sinking deep, burdened with the guilt of having ended so many lives. She's short of breath after a while, soon the lights go out - fade away around her. She doesn't struggle, doesn't move at all even. She just... she feels so… heavy and-

"Max? Are you even listening?"

Max is back on the pier, right beside Chloe. She gives her a sideways glance, nervously biting her lip and then tapping the rail. She nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm right here," she replies and manages a smile, refusing to expose herself. She can't.

Chloe looks her over briefly and nods slowly, suspecting but not accusing. Chloe never accuses Max, she can't.

"Right." Chloe breathes out slowly and closes her eyes, then wraps her arms around Max and pulls her in. She noses up in her hair and breathes in her scent, the one she's so used to now. "Hey."

"What?" Max mumbles somewhere into Chloe's collar bone.

"Love you," Chloe whispers and plants a quick kiss to her forehead.

Max just hums back, but her eyes stray to the side - towards the ocean.

It would be so easy to just… fall over and… float away.

* * *

Max and Chloe's apartment is a real shitty place, but at least they have a place - kinda like they always thought they would (despite the fact that _no,_ they didn't use gold paint for everything - it's expensive and they're barely making ends meet because it's LA). Those were… happier times. Simpler times, when William was alive and Arcadia was…

Well. Arcadia was there for starters.

Just the memory of Arcadia is…

...bad

And she tries to move on but _goddamn_ is it hard, especially when the news still drone on about the 'freak superstorm' that _wiped_ the damn coastal town away. How long are they going to beat _that_ dead horse?

So Max stays away from TV - mostly under Chloe's supervision - and sticks to Netflix, or Hulu, or Amazon. She can't even remember what they use anymore, everything is kinda… blurred together.

Like that time she used a photo to-

Max has a hard time forgetting.

"Hey."

Max turns her head sideways, rolling it away from the cold glass of the window. Between her fingers is a menthol cigarette - but she doesn't smoke. It's just… something she uses once in a while.

Chloe reaches over and takes the cigarette, resting it in her lips as she sits opposite Max and intertwines their legs in some sort of coherent jumble that seems to work. They both sit quietly beside the window.

"Cigarettes are bad," Chloe says and takes a drag, blowing the smoke out of the open pane.

"I thought you quit smoking," Max points out and reaches over to take the cigarette away from her. She takes her own drag, coughs like always, then throws it out of the window - like always.

Max doesn't smoke.

"Yeah, I did." Chloe shrugs and rubs her shoulder, roughly in the same spot where she used to wear her nicotine patches. "I thought you didn't smoke."

"I don't." Max exhales quietly and looks out of the window at their prime real estate view.

A brick building opposite theirs, with an alleyway between them. Lovely.

Max looks down between the two buildings and sees the ground. She presses her head against the glass and keeps staring, and staring…

Then she's falling. She's falling again, not a sound in the world except her surprisingly steady breathing. She's falling until-

-she's not.

"Max."

Max looks back at Chloe, dispelling the thought from her mind. She smiles softly and reaches over to grab her hand.

"Everything good?" Chloe asks and glances off to the side, down at the ground in the alley herself. She has suspicions that arise again, but doesn't accuse Max. "Sure you didn't spike those cigarettes with weed?"

She gives her an amused exhale. "No. I'm good, just… y-yeah."

Chloe stares at her for a while before finally nodding. "Okay."

They stay silent for a while. It's nice - Chloe acts like a bulwark against Max's thoughts when she's around.

"Hey," Chloe begins and untangles their legs somehow, "I know what will make you feel good."

Max yelps in surprise as she suddenly finds herself in Chloe's arms, cradled against her chest. She laughs for the first time in… forever and wraps her own arms around Chloe's neck. "Always the romantic."

Chloe smirks and makes way for the bedroom. "Am I wrong?"

"...no," Max admits and suddenly she's actually _falling_ \- _holy shit_ \- except-

-she lands on the mattress with a quiet squeak.

It doesn't take Chloe long to make Max forget as she shows her just how much she loves her - it's a coping mechanism and Max knows that, but it _works,_ however briefly.

* * *

Max's thoughts are that for a while - thoughts, nothing but just… images or scenarios in her head. It's weird, but Max is used to weird; she's had time travelling powers, she's seen dead people, she's been chased by a damn… monster, a real monster, in her nightmares.

Seeing herself dying is… not exactly something that stirs her, not after everything.

Eventually though… Max's thoughts start to manifest into actions.

Like today, like right now.

There's a knife on the counter and Max is _alone_ \- Chloe is late from work because some _asshole_ demanded his car be looked at _now_ rather than _tomorrow,_ because he wears a _fucking suit_ and acts like a _jackass-_

Chloe vents about work alot, but she's good at it. Chloe is good at a lot of things - like keeping Max safe, sane and grounded. But Chloe isn't there right now so Max _isn't safe,_ she _isn't sane,_ she _isn't grounded._

That eats away at her - in little whispers, little tugs at her heart, her nerves. Shit like that always eats away at her and has been ever since _fucking Arcadia,_ goddamn Arcadia. Arcadia is responsible for _everything_ \- it's where Max _is_ and Chloe _isn't_ because Chloe can't be back there with Max; not if they both want to stay alive and stay together.

One of them has to stay sane, despite all the shit they've been through.

Max takes the knife.

She stares at it at while, at the flat side of the blade - looking at her reflection. She stares too long and it distorts, morphs into _Maxine_ with her black parade of shadows behind her. The whispers intensify and she narrows her eyes and stares at each individual shape that stands beside her.

She blinks and it's gone. She stares over her shoulder and they're not there. She's gotten a bit better at shutting them out.

Yet still the knife is there and Max stares back down at it. Wouldn't it be so easy to just-

-there's a sound, the lock-

"-hey-"

Max drops the knife.

Chloe drops her keys.

Max doesn't turn around but she knows that Chloe saw her, she knows that Chloe knows and she knows that Chloe knew for a while now. They're just like that - they can read each other like a book, despite everything.

She's ashamed. She's such a damn burden to Chloe, emotionally and in other ways, and she knows that Chloe is tired but she keeps trying for Max, yet Max keeps squandering that. She's ashamed that she's so fucked up, so damn stupid to even think that something like that was an option and-

"Shh."

Chloe is already somehow in front of her, arms wrapped around her tight and refusing to let go. She closes her eyes and rests her cheek on Max's head.

Max breaks down in sobs.

She tries to speak, tries to mutter apologies - she tries to tell Chloe it's all her fault and that she's the problem and Chloe _has to_ blame her for _everything-_

Chloe stays silent and reaches down below them for the knife. She opens a nearby drawer and shoves it in there, then closes it gently - she doesn't slam it, not like Max expected her to. Her arms are back around Max's wiry frame and they're hugging again.

Max is still sobbing and trying to form coherent sentences but it all comes out in jumbles, punctuated by sniffles and harsh inhales as her chest heaves over and over. Eventually she gives up but Chloe's isn't mad at her for giving up.

Instead, she brings Max closer to her and helps her wrap her small arms around her, despite how slack the grip is. She holds Max up as her knees give in eventually between her whimpers but Chloe _isn't_ mad.

At some point though, Max passes out of exhaustion. She doesn't know how long they stood there, how long she cried or tried to apologise. She's sure that Chloe _is_ mad at her for everything.

* * *

Max is dreaming. She's dreaming and it's… nice. It's her and Chloe on the beach, enjoying their time together in the sand; mostly alone. It's dusk, just past the golden hour, and Max has already taken their daily selfie.

They're just… leaning against one another, silent. Their hands are clasped between them and there are no words exchanged. Max has no thoughts as she stares out over the ocean. She has no urge to fall, to sink.

It's refreshing.

Though eventually, Max falls asleep on Chloe's shoulder.

Then seconds later, she wakes up to the sight of Chloe above her - head resting on her lap. She's back in their apartment and the lights are dimmed. There's something playing in the background but Max doesn't focus on that.

She focuses on Chloe's red, puffy eyes - the trace of dried tears around them. She knows that she's the cause of this, that she made Chloe cry and-

Max whimpers as she reaches up to touch Chloe's cheek.

"Shh," Chloe beats her to it - grabbing her hand. She places it on her cheek and strokes her thumb in circles over the back. "I know. You don't need to talk."

So Max doesn't. Instead, she keeps silent and closes her eyes - crying softly.

It takes a few minutes, but once the tears are once again gone, Max sniffles and wipes her eyes. Chloe kisses the palm of her hand a few times and looks down at her.

"I'm not mad," Chloe begins with a genuine smile, "I'm not. I could never be."

Max thinks about tearing up again, or perhaps tearing herself down again but she doesn't. She listens.

"I've… been where you are," she admits. "I have and… look, I know our situations could never compare-"

"-Chloe-"

"-let me finish," Chloe interrupts right back. "I know that you have… so, so, _so much_ more shit on your shoulders and our situations could _never_ compare, but I know what it feels like to… think about it and just… see it as an easy way to, y'know… go out."

Max keeps silent.

"I've been there and… well."

Chloe exhales. Max exhales and strokes her cheek.

"I know how it is. I know how hard it is to… keep going, and I know you have it so much harder than me, but I…"

It's hard. It really is and Chloe blinks away her tears, sniffling and then wiping them away.

"Okay, let's… let's play each others therapists, okay?" Chloe said and let out a quiet chuckle. "I'll tell you about my… feelings leading up to… well, my attempt, then you'll… tell me everything you've been feeling recently, up until today. Sound good?"

Max nods.

"Good. This'll… this'll work, trust me. Fuck paying like two hundred bucks for your psychiatrist again - we can do this shit together," she mumbles.

Max nods again and listens. She cries and she manages to giggle quietly when Chloe cracks a joke. Then Max speaks, she confesses.

It's Chloe's turn to cry and she _cries,_ but never once does she stop listening.

And Max…

Max feels lighter after it all. She feels… empty, but in a good way. She still feels a burden on her shoulders, but it's lighter, and now Chloe knows everything. There are no secrets - no secrets at all.

She's finally exposed herself to Chloe and it feels good.

* * *

A few weeks pass and Max is still… lighter. She's better. She's good. It's easier now because she tells Chloe things and Chloe tells her things back. It's freeing, despite how dark or sad their thoughts are, but they cope. It feels like a real break, or perhaps the start of recovery or… something new.

"Hey nerd."

Max looks up from her ice cream to Chloe sitting across the table. Behind her she hears the ocean and once again they're near the pier, but this time Max has no thoughts that accompany her. Beside her is her polaroid camera and a fresh polaroid, finally developed - just a small memento of them on the beach.

"Not a nerd," Max replies and rolls her eyes. "Hey."

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Stuff," Max replies and takes in another spoonful of her ice cream. "What about you?"

Chloe smirks and leans back in her seat, placing her hands behind her head. "Thinking about all the things I could do with you," she teases.

Max frowns, blushes and then flicks some ice cream at Chloe who squeaks in protest. They both laugh and lean over the table to share a quick kiss. They share more laughs and more quiet talk, sweet things and sometimes kisses too - up until they run out of ice cream.

So they pay and leave, hand in hand - fingers intertwined - as they make their way down the beach. At one point they take off their shoes because it's almost unbearably warm and Chloe insists they dip their feet in the ocean - so they do, because it's their day off and why not?

"Everything feels… nice," Max eventually says as they continue to walk down the beach. She kicks up some sand before it's washed away with the waves. "This feels nice. Your hand in mine feels nice."

Chloe smiles and squeezes her hand. "Hasn't it always?"

"It has, just…" she trails off and shrugs.

"I know." Chloe looks ahead and squeezes her hand again.

Things quieten down and they walk and walk and walk until they run out of beach to walk on. So Chloe turns them around and right back they go down the entire length of the beach, back towards the pier.

"I… haven't had nightmares in a while," Max admits quietly. "No whispers or… thoughts. Not even here, not like last time."

Chloe smiles again. "Good."

"What about you?"

It catches her off guard, but Chloe keeps her smile. "I'm good. Head is still fucky and everything else is just…" she mumbles and gestures with her hand, making an explosion-like gesture near her chest. "But like, whatever. I've dealt with it before and you're here."

Max nods quietly. Chloe had a lot to take off her chest and Max would almost argue that she was in a worse place than her somehow, despite not showing it. Yet… Chloe never once faltered. Not with Max around.

Chloe was amazing.

"You're amazing," Max says and stands on her tiptoes to give her cheek a kiss.

There's a blush, though well hidden, but it's there because Chloe is still not used to Max showing her small affections like that. It's nice. "I know ya goop," she replies and gives her a sideways grin.

Max simply groans and rolls her eyes.

They walk right back down the beach, then turn around and walk right back up it again. This time though Chloe makes a point of dragging Max into the water - clothes and all - and neither of them care. They splash one another, give chase, mess around. They get a few stares, but who cares?

They kiss too, and it's brief and salty but Max loves it and Chloe cherishes it and neither of them want to break away but they do anyway. They rest their foreheads together and float in the water - or rather Max floats and Chloe stands, holding her close to prevent her from drifting.

Tall girlfriends and all that.

It's nice.

And it feels like a real start to something new, something nice. It feels like a new chapter of their lives almost, definitely Max's at least - she's finally leaving her thoughts and guilt behind, or trying really hard to. Chloe is there and she listens, and Max listens to Chloe and they _cope._

They move along and try to forget, try to make new memories. Max commemorates every little achievement with a polaroid, and Chloe commemorates every little achievement by spending time with Max. It works and they feel lighter, better.

There's a future for them now, not the monstrous, clouded, gloomy vortex that had invaded both their heads for so long. Arcadia is mentioned and _yes,_ it still hurts, but they at least talk about it now. Max openly mentions of wanting to visit the reconstruction site and Chloe makes mentions of taking her there whenever she's ready.

"Just a bit longer," Max always promises.

"However long you need," Chloe always replies.

And it all _works,_ despite all their imperfections, scars and memories.

Perhaps exposing themselves to one another was a step in the right direction.

Scratch that.

It _was_ a step in the right direction, and Max and Chloe both know that.


End file.
